I got a call from the tree whisperer asking me if wanted to go spend some time in the forest with him and his sister.  One of the things I miss about the U.S. is being able to hike in the woods for days without ever seeing a road or clearing for miles.  In the UK, this is a rarity.

So when the tree whisperer asked me if I wanted to go to the Forest of Dean, I said yes, of course.

The tree whisperer was on a quest.  He was using the Christmas holiday to explore the few forests that remain in England.  He wanted to see what he could learn from the trees.

Trees remind of the Druids who were a class of Celtic priest who believed in the sacredness of trees.  They conducted their religious ceremonies in the open-air oak groves.  The word druid is said to be derived from the Celtic words for oak and truth du and druidh.

Of course the Romans painted the Druids as a nefarious group of long robe wearing men who sacrificed humans for the sake of trees.

We didn’t have a plan, or a map when we arrived at Parkend, which is situated at the southern end of the Forest.  There’s only one thing to do in those circumstances and that’s to pick a cardinal direction and start walking, but not before feasting on a couple of jam sandwiches.

We started north up a hardball road and then took the first cut in the woods we found.  After 10 minutes the rush of the road faded and was replaced with the soft quietness of damp woods.  Childhood memories of me wandering in the woods near our house drifted in and out of the smell of pine needles.

It’s been a few years since I’ve been in a woods this deep.  We walked for a few hours, stopping and playing along the way. When I was a kid, I used to wander in the woods and marvel at the abundance of flora and fauna.  I was pleasantly surprised to find the magic of the woods still alive.

Sadly, the shortness of winter days limited us to a few hours of frolicking in the trees.  When the spring comes, I plan to revisit the Forest and explore some more.

I’m in that inevitable twilight zone between Christmas and New Year. Mentally I am finished with 2007, but not quite yet ready for 2008, which leaves me in limbo.

I went for a short hike today, up into the hills to see the White Horse. In the afternoon I had some lovely haggis and then packed my truck up like the gypsy that I am and headed back to Bristol.

I’m contemplating going to the Forest of Dean tomorrow to hang out in the trees and see what they have to say.


Merry Christmas to everyone out there who celebrates Christmas as Christian holiday.  Happy holidays to everyone else whatever your religious or non-religious persuasion happens to be.  I’m celebrating the day with family and friends in Westbury.  There will be plenty of good cheer, plenty of eating, and plenty of gift giving.

As I am actually writing this on the 24th of December, I can’t tell you yet what presents I may or may not have gotten.  Plus I don’t know which list of Santa’s I made it onto in 2007.  I’d like to think I made it onto the nice list.  Hey but what’s nice to some people might be down right naughty to others.

Anyway, my friends, have a fantastic day whatever you’re doing.

Peace,

Clay

I’m officially on holiday. I initially thought I would take a break from blogging, but I have since decided that I will continue even on me hols because as I wrote in post 114 every day is a holiday.  I’m not a big Christmas fan, but I do use the time to just hang out with family, reflect on the past year, and decide where I want to go in the new year.

I guess it’s cool
To sit in an airport
Waiting for a cheap airline

In your black shoes
Black trousers
Black jumper
Black bag
Silver/black watch
And yellow sunglasses

Only there’s no sun
Inside the terminal

I wonder if this
girl will ever
shut up.  She’s been
talking non-stop
on our flight
up to Glasgow

The sound of the
propeller prop turning
cannot compete with
her high pitched squeal
and moaning

She’s going on about
How the British
pronounce “Worcester”
and drive on the left
How they put milk
in their tea and call
their pants trousers
and cigarettes fags
How they speed down
the highway on a cold
sunny day with the top
down on the convertible
wrapped in their coats,
scarves and earmuffs
How they sit on the beach
in June with windbreaks
and jumpers on turning
their noses up at the rain

I’d like to stuff
a sock in her
mouth, or maybe a _____.
But that would be
rude and a little crude
even for her.  Besides
which she’d probably
keep talking and later
pick me from her teeth.

So I best keep
my sock and
my _____ to myself
and pray the landing
gear works.

I picked this little gem from an email I received:

When the student is ready the teacher appears.
When the thinker is ready the idea appears.
When the artist is ready the inspiration appears.
When the servant is ready the purpose appears.
When the athlete is ready the performance appears.
When the leader is ready the vision appears.
When the lover is ready the partner appears.
When the disciple is ready God appears.
When the teacher is ready the student appears.
– Robert Holden

i came out of my
mother’s womb like
i was here to stay

a smacked ass
and a snip made
me change my mind

now i pass my days
in pursuit of fine women
trying all i can to get back in

i know it’s pointless
but i pray: let this one
be it for god’s sake

and I give it another go


I finished reading The Average American Male and I thought what a grim commentary on the American Male psyche. What is even more scary is that Chad Kultgen isn’t far off the mark in describing what men think about most of the day, which I am sure you have already guessed, is sex, videogames and more sex.

I remember one hard-ass, male-hating female lieutenant colonel who started one of her presentation to a group of cadets with the startling statistic that the average male thinks about sex every 7 seconds. Is this true guys? Do we really think about sex that much?

Chad Kultgen’s main characters certainly lays bare this static. In every single chapter he is having sex, thinking about sex, watching porno, jerking off, or fantasizing about sex with every single female he sees. He tells his friend Todd that he would fuck 98% of the women he sees. You get the impression that the other 2% must be invalid or near-death in order to not warrant being considered for any kind of sexual intercourse.

The Average American Male is like a triple X-rated version of John Gray’s book, Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. In fact, I wish one of you ladies out there would write the female version of The Average American Male. I would welcome a read of The Average American Female. I would love to know what women really think about?

Chad Kultgen paints women as Venus Flytraps. The women in his book basically do what ever it takes to lure men in (re fuck them every way imaginable multiple times a day), make them feel all funny inside (re love), and then, when the guy is sedated with thoughts of endless blissful sex, suck the soul out of them with marriage and leave them bumbling, porn watching, jerking off husks of men.

I would like to believe this is not true, but history tells me different, biology proves it, and psychology shows all the crazy things a guy will do for those inevitable last few seconds of mind-blowing orgasmic sex.

Women were designed to attract and keep men. Men were designed to make babies. This is how the species of man survives.

Ok. I am digressing into my own psychotic shit. Back to the book. The Average American Male is as brilliant as it is vulgar. As Toby Young put it, “I can’t figure out if this book is a heartfelt dispatch from the front line in the battle of the sexes, or a brilliant send-up of the way the male point of view has been misrepresented by militant feminists.”

I enjoyed reading about myself however painful it is to admit that all I think about is sex, sex, and more sex. Fuck the videogames!